


At Least The Sky is Blue

by MrsKisaragi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Brief appearances of France NT, Cheating?? since they still have wags and all idek, FIFA World Cup 2018, Havard - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, brief appereances of Thorgan and Adil, yes ill be calling this ex-Lille duo ship as this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsKisaragi/pseuds/MrsKisaragi
Summary: This is maybe some sort of revenge, he thinks. A way for the other to assert dominance; something that Hazard- Belgium, couldn't during the match.





	At Least The Sky is Blue

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever for this fandom AND this website. Out of the OTPs I could've written, I chose to write this crack one smh  
> • Takes place after the Belgium-France semifinal where France won 1-0.

 

> _Wish I could say I didn't blame them,  
>  But I do.  
>  _

The sound he was dying to hear echoes across the packed stadium. The match has finally ended _and_ his side is the one receiving the green light to advance to the next stage. He couldn't believe it, a fairytale-like scenery he'd only seen in TV replays is unfolding before his eyes. A recreation of a dream he halfheartedly remembers; a dream that dates back to when he could even barely walk with his two own feet! _He is going to the World Cup final._

Cheers, chants- _roars of pride_ , that blends with the glorious colours of blue, white, red; it paints an illustrious, almost cinematic, picture as it flashes over his eyes. When he thought he couldn't get any prouder in playing for his noble country yet here he is.

It can be expected what comes next truthfully. A huge grin is visible on each of his teammates' faces as they run to celebrate with the coach, the benched members and staffs. He quickly joins them, the euphoria clouding his mind like an aphrodisiac. Not completely used to such situation, he could only manage to scream in joy as they all huddle together. The scent of sweat is obvious but with the ecstasy gifted to them at the moment, uncomfortableness be damned. He then walks over to kiss his parents and girlfriend, thankful for the endless support they had shown till now. It still feels like a fantasy that he's a part of this team that's filled with nothing but marvel.

If it is possible on getting high from winning a semifinal match, he's sure he has long stranded in cloud nine and doesn't mind not getting down.

He notices the rivals' crestfallen faces but he knows he has no right to comment on anything about them so he doesn't and avert his attention away.

-

An interviewer beckons him when he steps away from the celebrations for a moment, obviously seeking for a brief session. He hesitates a bit because he doesn't feel like he's worth to be focused on for today- his teammates were far more amazing than him but he figures anyone could do for the questions. He still haven't wiped the giddy smile off his face and it most likely would be there for a long time.

He listens to the questions properly while being mentally prepared on what suitable replies he should give. He couldn't manage himself however when he catches a familiar figure passing by at the corner of his eye. A masterpiece that's clad in honourable red- _a man that's imposed with a nation's neverending dream_. A warrior he'd heard so many stories of back in Lille. Decorated stories of compliments and admirations.

The captain armband never seemed so heavy around someone's arm before.

He notes himself that he'll ask if he could swap shirts with him later on as he proceeds to answer the cliche questions coolly; visibly still elated from the victory.

-

He is about to run after the man when he's finally freed from the cameras and microphones but a hand jerked him by the arm. Kylian is hollering him to come over and take some photos with the fans and he isn't going to refuse it now, right? The man he was chasing is nowhere within the frame anyway. _Next time._

_-_

The team scurries back to the dressing room, still jubilant  
with their singings and some synchronized dance moves.  
It's such a joyous atmosphere that you're bound to be drawn into it sooner or later. Ben is already in a mess of chuckles just by looking at their antics from his seat. He eventually starts to hum along in the middle when Pogba tugs him to stand up and bop to the music.

Ben wonders on how if it's already this festive just from winning the semifinal match, it'll surely be chaotic if they actually win the majestic trophy. He'll be anticipating massive fireworks, definitely.

The heat dies down slightly as the team gets ready to pack their stuff. There's another game waiting for them after all- _the final game,_ so they need all the rest and preparation they could get. Ben is about to follow suit before his phone rings. A nostalgic name flickers on the screen and it pulls a small smile out of him. He answers instantly and a bit too cheerfully as the voice of an old friend greets and congratulates him. He could just sense how this call may take a long while.

-

He isn't lying when he said how it would take some time. By the time they bid their farewells, the room falls silent and only his low breathings still audible. Everybody else has long made their way to the bus. He then hurriedly packs his belongings and halts halfway when he's about to grab the jersey he'd worn. _Oh right, he wanted to exchange shirts._ Maybe it's too late for that already. He frowns a bit and throws the shirt over his shoulder before zipping his bag shut after stuffing his last item.

When he steps out of the dressing room, only few people are still lingering around. They are probably the stadium's staffs and security guards. He glances at the other side's dressing room only to see which seems like one of Belgium's team staff saying something- _to someone,_ who's still inside. The man then closes the door before pacing away.

Ben doesn't know why but opts to stay for a little while. It's as if he knows who'll be walking out in any second. His gut was right at the end when a silhouette he came to be accustomed with merges out of the room. A figure of a player that could have the world under his feet any day- _just not today._ The man catches Ben standing not far from him and displays a smile that doesn't last for more than a second. An ache inhabits within his chest.

He then realizes this is a great chance to ask for what he'd been wanting to. He is aware of the tension building between them but it's not sufficient to make him shy away. It's normal; when one wins, the other loses. And it's also common to have a bad blood with the rival you just defeated. It is also a well-known knowledge to chin up to the result and not act like a sore loser. However, the timing for this isn't suitable after all.

He reduces the distance between them as Hazard watches him closely, _cautiously_. Ben could see the armor the other have secluded himself in for this confrontation and he doesn't blame him.

He couldn't.

With his hands in his pockets- hiding the insecurities that are running wild all over him, Hazard starts.

"Need something? Or are you going to comfort me and tell how good we did?"

His voice wasn't menacing when he'd said it but Ben could make out the thorns sticking out around each words. It's funny; despite being the winner here, he feels like he's lost in a dead end. No different than being stuck in a maze and he doesn't know which pathway leads to the best outcome.

As if it's perfectly scripted, Ben forgets his initial motive and like on autopilot, he retaliates with words he wasn't planning to spit out.

"Well, you- you guys were really good honestly. There's nothing wrong in saying that."

Hazard's eyes goes wide for a while. He snickers afterward in a mocking tone. "If we played so good," he shrugs "we wouldn't be the one moping right now, no?"

"That's how it works, right? There will always be a loser and a winner, even when both sides played amazingly." Ben isn't actually in full control of what he says, he believes. "And we're lucky to be the side who won at the end."

"Lucky, huh?" Hazard's eyes are glossed with devastation and anger. "So you're admitting that we deserved the win far more if it weren't for your 'luck'?"

Now it's starting to piss him off. "Everyone's desperate to win. Everyone gave their all in every match so don't say it like you're the only one putting everything on the line. We worked hard for that and it paid off like it should."

Hazard is plainly glaring daggers at him at the moment. A silence polluted with venom that if Ben wasn't strong enough, he would probably suffocate.

"Yeah, hard work with a pinch of bias maybe."

There are many ways how this could progress. Ben could raise his voice or maybe deal a punch or two just for that remark but he's wise enough to restrain himself. He understands how each comment is out of sorrow, sort of a self-defense mechanism thingy activating when you're feeling low. Ben has been through those- maybe not as much as Hazard but he _understands_ somehow. The pain of loss on the biggest stage of the world is never comparable and it always reveals the worst out of you.

But he couldn't help it. He couldn't help but to fight back.

"Well, maybe your effort wasn't enough that's why it didn't pay off. Have you ever thought of that?"

He knows it wasn't the kindest thing to say and he's not the best person to act all-mighty on him. He doesn't really mean those- it was more of a fight-or-flight condition and he was not going to allow his team getting disparaged just like that. Apparently Hazard took the remark bravely.

Hazard snorts but his glare remain as cold as ever. "I don't like you." He tries not to let anger get the better of him.

Ben doesn't respond.

"I don't like how you were always in my way. Obstructing many of my chances, coming at me everytime I have the ball. You were like a pest that just won't quit. It was frustrating."

Ben takes it as a praise. It means he's good in what he does if it makes the enemy feel difficult and he smiles a bit.

"It only shows how great you are that I had to give 110% to try and stop you."

It's somehow comical when Ben thinks about this whole situation. Who knew the first ever proper conversation he'll be having with the player he respects a lot is going to turn out to be a like a satire in motion. When he was at Lille, many of the staffs there still talked about Eden Hazard like the man had never really left. The legacy he'd left was too big for the club and will always live as one of the greatest story to ever be written for them. He is a role model that many of the players today look up to and Ben doesn't blame them. He, too, admires the glory the man had brought to whichever team he was playing with.

And Ben doesn't deny the admiration- _trivial adoration_ , he has for the man. It was a pleasure to be able to play against his _senior_.

Hazard laughs a bit. "I guess I didn't give more than that 110%. That's why I couldn't dominate you?"

Ben detects the light change of air around them. "Maybe next time if we face each other again."

What comes after isn't something Ben could really register.

Thin fingers card through his hair; tugging a bit roughly but not enough to cause discomfort. An initiation that's later followed by a gesture usually meant for intimate partners as he feels a sudden warmth spreading over his lips. His nervous system goes into a temporary state of shock but the mind allows him to relax and sink in. It's not like Ben has never kissed anyone before; he has a loving girlfriend whom he shares hundred of kisses with. However, to be doing it with a man is a first. Especially when it's with someone he could label as a rival.

He's not going to lie, he'd expected it to be an entirely different feeling trailed by a panic attack due to the surrealism but yet, the sensation is familiar after all no matter which ever gender you're experiencing it with. It scares him a bit on how he doesn't mind _this_.

From what he understands, kissing is meant to be affectionate; a gentle act of love that's littered with promises of security. At least that's what the meaning it gives him when he's caught up in such action. It's supposed to be carrying a sense of happiness and consolation as the mind is fogged with the need for more. It's a behavior that never fails to leave him melted in the lukewarm ambience it radiates.

This kiss _though_.

It's a tad bit contradicting.

It's a motion done out of spite, he's sure of it. He tries to search some sort of reassurance in it but none surfaces. He is drowned in nothing but the taste of the other's bitterness, frustration and regret. A mellow moment that's completely devoid of trust and fondness. It doesn't last particularly long as the other bites his bottom lip slightly to finish it off but the aftertaste it leaves when they part isn't welcoming. The tinge of iron that stings his lip alerts him that a wound may have formed.

Hazard puts up a complacent expression but his eyes couldn't hide the weakness that's slowly exposing itself. He pulls his hands away and for a second there it made Ben to _almost_ miss the touch. He'd like to say to him- to himself, that he understands how it feels to lose in a major tournament but he isn't exactly the right person to be patronising. This is his first time playing in a World Cup and that is enough to prove there's a wide rift between him and the man who'd gone through many defeats.

This is maybe some sort of revenge, he thinks. A way for the other to assert dominance; something that Hazard- Belgium, couldn't during the match.

It was a kiss that was mixed with a game of tag for validation perhaps, and it was a battle Ben permitted himself to lose if it meant it'll make the other feel somehow satisfied with himself.

The price the loser has to pay is unimaginable, really.

Ben then wipes the blood on his lips with the edge of his sleeve. He shifts his gaze to the floor, his confidence and euphoria from the victory starting to slip away. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights for some reason- _it's kind of stupid_. "I'm sorr--" He begin to say this not because he can relate; not due to some crime he did, it is more of an obligatory apology- a  _courtesy_ when he couldn't say anything else for comfort. Hazard dismisses his words halfway and rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Don't and you shouldn't be. It only adds more salt to the wound." He says it rather casually, as if the built up irritation has dissolved under the helplessness he's feeling. "I'll just have to do better. Again."

For a while, the silence between them in the foyer never sounded any louder. The man that was driven by desperation and ambitions an hour ago, who was running everywhere like it was his freedom, who was difficult to confine, suddenly never felt any smaller before him. The vibrance that was too bright on the pitch has died down along with the defences he'd caged himself in.

It was a resilient dream that had been cut short.

And Ben is well aware he played a part in crushing this brilliant man's dream.

So he doesn't question the action Hazard committed. He won't; _he couldn't_.

Hazard eyes him a bit skeptically and Ben could see the distraught dwelling behind a rigid posture. Myriad of words left unspilled despite he usually knows what to respond. Yet here he is, feeling like he's new to this world once again.

Hazard heaves a sigh- carefully laying down his ego to where he can hold. "Why didn't you fight back?"

No different than a child yearning for empathy.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Hazard looks elsewhere "push me away? Asking why I did it?"

"I don't want to owe you anything."

Hazard snorts. He gets where the younger man is going. "You don't owe me anything." He starts to smile, albeit meekly. "You have all the right to fight back." _To win that match._

Ben smiles slightly, he's still too immature in handling this kind of situation after all but he doesn't hate it. It gives him the chance to see through a new perspective; to always express humility. A defeat is never something pleasurable and he by happened to be lucky to avoid it this time.

"Sorry anyway." Hazard speaks up as he fixes the position of his bag's strap. "I shouldn't have done it. Please forget whatever I'd said and done. Congratulations on the win, by the way. Might as well win the final along if you were able to beat us." Playfulness comes dancing back in his tone.

Ben grins. "Thanks. Good luck on your match against England or Croatia."

"Don't worry, we'll win that 3rd place."

"Yeah, for sure you guys will."

"Anyway, did you need me for something actually?"

 _Oh_ , it dawns back to him. Ben had entirely forgot about it. He wanted to exchange shirts with him. He was so distracted by the flow of their conversation that it flew away from his mind.

"Ah, that's right. Can we exchange shirts?" He tries not to sound excited.

Hazard blinks before exerting a laugh. "That's all? Sure, sure." He unzips his bag to fish for the jersey he'd worn. They then swap shirts when Ben hands him the one he'd left dangling on his shoulder. A warm semblance settles inside him as he grips onto the red shirt with a proud number 10 etched on the back.

Hazard is about to offer his hand for a comity shake before making his leave but Ben cuts him off in the middle,

"I'm sure Belgium will go much further than this for the Euros."

It took Hazard off guard that it takes him a few seconds to finally bare his familiar trademark smirk.

"But it's a different story if you have to face France again. We'll win in that case." Ben continues, turning his words into a tease.

Hazard shrugs, faking his ponder. It's endearing, honestly. "I don't know about that because Belgium is going to be champion for Euros. It's destined." He winks jovially.

Ben lets out a mirthful chuckle as Hazard laughs along. This is the famous Eden Hazard he'd always known. The man who's shrouded with confidence and reliability no matter where he goes. The man that conveyed Lille to the kingdom of victors.

A player he'd always respect and admire in every aspect.

They part ways at the end; Ben peeking over his shoulder for the last time to see the small figure becoming distant. He can't exactly explain why but he's definitely looking like a fool right now. By the degree of how wide he's grinning right now, he's certain he's just inviting a chorus of laughters within any second.

By the time he got into the bus, his teammates are already bombarding him with too many questions that's just insane to answer all simultaneously. He buzzes his way through the ones that's still standing and takes his seat besides Adil. The jersey he got have long stored inside his bag; he doesn't want to deal with his nosy teammates making speculations. He loves them all nevertheless. Though there's nothing absurd about exchanging shirts with the rival, frankly.

"Where were you!?"

"We thought you were taken as hostage and we're ready to call the Russian army for this."

"Did you went to eat that really good pasta without us?"

Ben just snickers at their exaggeration and wonders on how it's going to be lonely when the World Cup ends.

"Don't worry, I wasn't hurt!" He couldn't stop laughing when Adil starts making mocking gestures of calling the police. He slaps his mate a bit for that as the other burst into a fit of giggles. "I just went to meet my 'idol' a bit."

He recalls the uncalled kiss; the sensation still lingers within his mouth. _Bittersweet but adoring._

They start spewing possible names on whom he could've met but he ends up shrugging at every answer, laughing throughout the process. However, he gets the feeling that Adil figured it out already and he's just glad the man chose to keep silent.

* * *

 

Quietness surrounds the team's bus with only small chats can still be heard. It's nothing odd considering their World Cup dream has been severed. It's not exactly a new feeling; they felt this four years ago. _Two years ago_. A resilient dream that ends up being tamed when they thought they could realize it. A loss is still a loss- and it will always hurt.

Eden is seated next to his younger brother with the window to his right. He dawdles on the possibilities and the chances he could've taken during the match. It's funny how within the span of 90 minutes, you could've achieved so many things yet lose more than you bargained for. He is physically tired- mentally exhausted. As the captain, he takes the blame more than the others and the scars aren't fading away any sooner. He gives up finally in stressing his mind over it and switches to thinking a different subject.

Mindlessly watching as variety of cars pass by, he indulges himself in his thought of what had happened not long ago. The way the younger Frenchman submits to him sparked an unnamed desire and it keeps him bothered slightly. It's a bit hilarious, he thinks. The initiation was only meant to be some sort of a display of power- an act of assertiveness. _A validation that he isn't weak._

Yet he keeps reminding himself the taste of the other's soft lips; regretting for not experimenting further. Would he moan if he leaves his marks on his skin?

_I don't want to owe you anything._

Eden smirks. A simple sentence that pulled him back to reality. Still couldn't entirely believe he got patronised in a way by someone much younger than him. It was a nice change of atmosphere. He has to give credit to the guy though for performing marvellously in defending against him. He will only continue to grow from here on.

If only Euros could come any sooner.

" _Benjamin Pavard_ , huh."

Thorgan pulls out one earphone and raises a brow at his brother. "You said something?"

"Nothing. You're probably just mistaking your background music for my voice again." Eden jokes.

Thorgan rolls his eyes at his brother's remark and plugs in his earphone back.

Eden then gazes back outside the window, a smile making its way on his face. Despite such a devastating day, he still have many things to look forward to. There's still the 3rd place to fight for and if they're going to go back to their country, they have to make sure they return with a medal. Then they can make up for today by winning the Euros, which is just two years away.

"..at least the sky is blue. So it's still all good."

Eden then shuts his eyes and dozes off.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I'm still bitter about the game haha.  
> Title inspired by At Least The Sky is Blue by SSION. Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading.


End file.
